


We can free ourselves of all we've learned

by heavenisalibrary



Series: Tumblr Prompt Fills [30]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, sharing a bed trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-24 00:38:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4898812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavenisalibrary/pseuds/heavenisalibrary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Amy,” he said, exasperated, and a tiny bit terrified as his eyes darted to River, smirking at his side, and then back to his companion. “I thought — you know — the women could share the double bed. It’s…” he trailed off, fumbling for an actual explanation. In addition to the fact that he knew he wasn’t going to have any luck appealing to Amy or River’s nigh nonexistent modesty, he also suspected that River knew his feints at innocence and propriety were mostly an act. “It just makes sense, is all.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	We can free ourselves of all we've learned

**Author's Note:**

> An anon on tumblr asked for an older!River, younger!Doctor sharing a bed trope fic. It is rated M, but if you wanna keep it family friendly, you can stop after the cut/page break/whatever you want to call it, and all you'll really miss is the smut.

The accommodations in the Gamma Forest were somewhat lacking, truth be told. There were barely a dozen hotels amongst the trees, only a third of which were anywhere  _near_  the military base he was supposed to be assisting at, and with nearly one hundred other independent contractors and mercenaries of various origins also staying in the area, finding a room was nearly impossible. Amy, being Amy, had no qualms about snatching the key to the single room with the twin bed for herself even as he reached for it, dangling it tauntingly over her head as she sauntered off towards the elevators.

“ _Amy_ ,” he said, exasperated, and a tiny bit terrified as his eyes darted to River, smirking at his side, and then back to his companion. “I thought — you know — the  _women_  could share the double bed. It’s…” he trailed off, fumbling for an actual explanation. In addition to the fact that he knew he wasn’t going to have any luck appealing to Amy  _or_  River’s nigh nonexistent modesty, he also suspected that River knew his feints at innocence and propriety were mostly an act. “It just makes sense, is all.”

“You were a woman once, too, Doctor,” River said, “or a little girl, at any rate.”

“That’s — how do you even — spoil —”

“I can’t spoil you on your own past, you barmy old man,” River said with a roll of her eyes, grabbing her bag and his and slinging them over her shoulder as she grabbed the second key, to the room with the double bed, and went to catch up with Amy at the elevators. The Doctor gulped. He tugged at his collar, and thought of about four hundred and eleven ways to get out of this situation. Unfortunately, he didn’t think River or Amy would let him get away with any of them, and even more unfortunately, most of him didn’t  _want_  to. Still, River didn’t need to know that.

He continued to grumble all the way up the elevator, pausing only when they stopped on Amy’s floor to puff up his cheeks in the best approximation of a smile he could manage while his palms were sweating so badly and give her a silly salute. She rolled her eyes at him, but winked at River.

“Have fun, lovebirds,” she cooed over her shoulder as she walked away down the hall. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“That’s not a whole lot,” River said, sounding like she knew what she was talking about. The Doctor wondered, not for the first time, how often River had run into Amy in her past. River seemed to be more than casually familiar with Amy, though she was good at hiding it — he wondered briefly, and with rising horror, if they spent time together without him. Now  _that_  was a terrifying thought.

“Exactly,” Amy called back.

The Doctor sighed, exasperated beyond his wildest imaginings. River just stepped over next to him, wrapping her arm around his and giving his forearm and  _incredibly_ patronizing pat as the elevator doors closed. His irritation with how she sometimes treated him like some sort of grievously stupid and untrainable dog bloomed into the forefront of his mind with that, and he encouraged it, because being annoyed with River was far preferable to the way the thought of spending the night with her made his hearts pound in his throat.

He just didn’t sleep much, which was sometimes awkward to explain. And he didn’t — or wasn’t lately accustomed to — sleeping with anybody else in his bed, when he did sleep, and that seemed like an even deeper source of awkwardness… and also not, which sent him into an even greater spiral of worry and speculation, because River was already dead, and it had been his fault, and here he was, fluttering about on the inside like a Time Lord barely past his bicentennial at the prospect of spending the night with her, and he wasn’t equipped to handle any of that at the moment. Or probably,  _ever._  So he just deepened his frown as the elevator doors opened and River walked toward their door, only dropping his arm to fumble with the and unlock it. He steadfastly ignored the way his newly free arm immediately made to rest his hand on the small of her back as he followed her into the room.

It was small and cozy, with a large bed sitting center, one dresser against the opposite wall, and a large mirror resting on top. There was a bathroom attached, which he only noticed because he opened it up to look inside to give himself something to do. 

“Relax, sweetie,” River said. “I’m not going to bite.”

“I’m relaxed,” he said, popping his head out of the bathroom to frown at her. “Who said I’m not relaxed? I’m cool as a cucumber, which, really, is a delightful thing to say but doesn’t make a whole lot of sense —”

“Oh, yes,” River interrupted with a laugh as she unpacked a few things from her bag, “you’re  _very_  relaxed.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked toward her, in case she noticed that his palms were sweating — really, this whole thing was mortifying — trying to act like this whole thing wasn’t sending him into a tailspin.

“Well, you have to admit,” he said, “it’s a bit odd. Bit uncomfortable. We hardly know each other.”

It wasn’t, he knew, quite  _true_. He knew that she was clever and thought well on her feet. He knew that she hated plans, which was fine, because she improvised better than anyone he’d ever met. He knew she drank her tea with milk and preferred strawberry jam to any other. He knew that she preferred history books, particularly complicated ones written in dead languages almost no one, he thought, knew, based on the tomes he found dog-eared all over his library after she visited. He knew that she could fly the TARDIS — and better, or  _worse_ , that she could fly it well. She knew that she wasn’t human, not entirely, although any line of inquiry stopped there, because his theories all hurt to touch, because she had to be at least a low level telepath to operate the TARDIS as completely as she did, and he’d caught more than once a glimpse of her mind when she was frustrated or upset and standing too close to him, not that he looked. He knew that she grabbed his hand when she ran, automatically lacing her fingers through his, and that when she was around, he felt overwrought and overwhelmed and guilty and thrilled and a little less alone. He was good at equations, and he knew how to add it all up, but there was a deep fear and dread in the answer, and so he stood by his statement, reaching for his own bag and needlessly unpacking it so he didn’t have to see her face as she responded.

“You hardly know me,” River corrected. 

It didn’t end up mattering that he couldn’t see her face, because he’d been lying, and he  _did_  know her, at the very least well enough to picture the tight press of her lips and the distance in her eyes and the slight flush of embarrassment or frustration that would be on her cheeks based on the tone of her voice. He turned his back to her to hide his cringe, folding some clothes he probably wouldn't wear into a drawer and wishing that he hadn't parked the TARDIS miles and miles below on the ground, and a three day's travel to the east. They puttered about the room in silence for a while, until he heard the  _whoosh_ of the bedspread being pulled back. He turned to face her, finally, wringing his hands out.

"What are you wearing?" he asked immediately, although the proper question was  _what are you_ not _wearing_. She had on tiny, flimsy shorts and a tank top that sort of made him want to cover his eyes.

"Pajamas, honey," River said. "What, you're going to sleep in the tweed?"

"No," he said immediately. And then, "I hadn't really thought about it, actually. I didn't, erm — I didn't pack... very well."

"Want to borrow some of mine?" she asked, winging a brow at him and resting a hand on her popped hip. He sighed at her.

" _No_ ," he said.

"Shall I take mine off, then?" she said immediately. "That way we can match."

" _River_ ," he groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face and hoping that he seemed as irritated as he was trying to be, instead of vaguely interested in her proposition and where it might lead. "I'm wearing pants. I'll sleep in them." _  
_

"No you're — oh, really?" River said, seeming surprised when he nodded vigorously. She shrugged. "Ah, youth."

"You're not telling me I romp about without any pants on in the future," he said, huffing as he made his way to the bathroom to strip down. He supposed River would see him regardless — he also had the ever-growing certainty that she'd seen him in less already — but it felt strange to undress in front of her. Besides, he could come up with about ten quips off the cuff she was likely to make about strip teases, which probably meant she had several dozen ready to go.

"Spoilers," she sing-songed.

"Why on earth would I do that? It's just impractical."

"Depends on what you're doing," River said.

"Depends on..." he repeated distractedly as he undid his trousers, slipped them off, and then folded everything on the bathroom counter. He was stepping out of the bathroom when he realized what she said, and slapped his hand to his forehead. " _River!"_

"Like I said.  _Spoilers_."

The way her voice dropped low did  _not_ make him shiver, and his palms absolutely did not begin to sweat anew as he strode across the room — studiously not looking at his bedmate — and climbed into bed, immediately hiding himself beneath the covers, rolling over so that his back was to her and switching off the light on his nightstand.

"Don't pout, sweetie," River said as she slipped beneath the covers too, switching off her light. 

"You can't even see me," he said, "how do you know I'm pouting?"

Probably, he thought, the same way he knew she was rolling her eyes.

"You always pout when you're embarrassed," she said. "You're like a toddler."

"I'm a Time Lord," he said, "I'm over one thousand years old."

"And yet getting you to eat your veg is a lifelong battle of mine," River said.

"Lifelong?" he repeated, grabbing on to the only part of that sentence that really interested him.

She sighed. "Hyperbole, honey."

"River?"

She hummed, and he felt her shifting in the bed, nestling deeper beneath the covers. He felt her roll closer to him. Her leg bumped his as she situated herself, but she only pulled it back slightly — he could tell she was scant inches from him, and the knowledge made his bare skin buzz.

"How old are you?"

She laughed. "That's quite rude."

"Well —"

"It's also spoilers," she said.

He sighed. "How am I supposed to get to know you if you won't tell me anything  _about_ you?"

She shifted on the bed again, and he curled in on himself to keep from reaching to her as she tentatively reached a foot out to him beneath the covers, snaking it between his. He thought about moving further away, or rolling over, or asking her to give him space, because he knew that for all of her innuendo and flirting, all he had to do was say the word and she'd back off, at least temporarily. Instead he just let her, relaxing back into the bed. Her desire to touch him was oddly nice, even if he was still sorting out how to handle it, or how to respond.

"I don't need to tell you about my life for you to know me," River said, "besides, while 'lifelong' might be hyperbole, I don't think it's spoilering you too much if I say that you'll be there for a great deal of it. The highlights, anyway. And the lowlights."

He didn't say anything in response, just concentrated on the feeling of her skin, warm and soft, against his as she rolled further into him, relaxing his legs so that as her foot slipped further between his, her leg ended up tangled with his, too. He felt her breath on the back of his shoulders, and when he felt her hands curled against the middle of his back, like she was afraid to properly reach for him, he  _had_ to shift his outside leg closer to her, curling it over the leg she'd draped over him. He felt her sigh deeply, as though she'd been holding her breath, and she slowly reached her arm out to wrap around him, nuzzling up against his back in a way that was simultaneously the least River-like thing he could imagine, and so endearing his throat abruptly felt a bit thick. He reached a hand down to cover hers where it rested over his abdomen, sighing quietly.

"Then how do I... how do I do it, then? You have to tell because I don't — I'm not used to — because I don't know  _how_ ," he said, so quietly that he half-hoped she missed it. She was quiet for a moment, but he thought he felt her press her lips against his back briefly, so he knew she heard him. In the dark, her breathing slowed to match his, and there was comfort there —  _here_ , with her wrapped around him, there was comfort. He felt everything in him slow and calm, his nerve endings focusing on the points where her body touch his, to the way her breath felt against his skin, to the flutter of her eyelashes against him as she ducked her head against him. When he sighed, he felt all the tension he'd felt on their way up to the room run out of him, just like that.

"You are doing it, sweetie," she said, "I think you already know me better than you're ready to admit."

She wasn't wrong. After a moment, he rolled over, still holding her hand, to face her, taking a deep breath before sidling close to her and wrapping his arms around her to pull her to him. She tucked her head beneath his chin — whether she was predicting his inability to meet her eyes or hiding her own from him, he wasn't sure — as he ran his hands down her back stopping at the small of it and just holding her. He thought this would be strange — he thought that sleeping in the same bed as her at all would've been strange, and uncomfortable, and filled with the sort of innuendo that would've sent him flailing into the hallway, but instead she seemed to know just what he needed to be put at ease. In fact, he didn't remember the last time he'd felt so comfortable, and at the same time, so tired. She threw one leg over his hip, pressing the other between his legs, and he closed his eyes, brushing one of his feet up against one of hers and taking comfort in being near to somebody in a way he hadn't been in — well, almost so long that he could only half-remember.

"Tell me a story," he said.

"What?" she said with a laugh.

He pressed a kiss to her hair, so lightly that he half-hoped she didn't notice. "Tell me a story about you," he said, "about your childhood or your studies or something. Whatever you want. Think of something without the spoilers."

River ran her fingers contemplatively over the skin of his back, and he tried vainly to suppress a shudder. It felt so nice to be touched. This body was incredibly tactile, in a way that many of his regenerations hadn't been — he was always kissing people's foreheads and hugging them and grabbing their hands to run, but people rarely touched him. Even Amy, who had no personal boundaries nor sense of appropriateness, rarely reached out for him. There were oh-thank-god-we're-alive hugs and I'm-so-glad-you're-my-friend hugs, among others, but the sort of thoughtless, comfortable touches River often bestowed upon him were sorely missed when she wasn't around, even though he tried not to think about it. River would press up against him to look at the monitor, or wrap herself around him to reach under his arm and grab a mug in the kitchen, or press a hand to his forearm when he made her laugh, or knock her fingers against him reaching out to grab a tool to work on the TARDIS with. Small, simple intimacies he hadn't had in so long, and he was  _hungry_ for them, even if he'd never admit it. To be here in the dark, wrapped around River, with her gently stroking his back as though it were a usual thing for her, as though she touched him without thought — it was a gift, really. 

It was also a little bit distracting, especially with her legs tangled with his and her lush, curvy form pressed against him from head to toes, her breath warm on his throat, and he had to tamp down on his thoughts to keep from reacting, tucking  _those_ thoughts away and instead focusing on River's voice as she began to speak.

"I was a bit of a delinquent, in grade school," she began.

"Surprise, surprise," he murmured.

"Hush," she said, a smile in her voice. "I had... growing pains. Too clever for my own good, far too bored in a far too small town. Nothing fit quite right. I started going into London when I was fifteen —"

"Ah, so you  _are_ British," he said. Those niggling questions about her humanity were abruptly, disappointingly, but also kindly, extinguished for a split second before he remembered that the woman currently nestled in his arms was River Song, and he'd do well not to expect anything with her to be simple or straightforward.

"What else would I be?" she asked, though he sensed a bit of tension in her voice. "That's not the point. And hardly a spoiler, although perhaps it's worth noting that I didn't say I was  _born_  there. But anyway, I took to visiting London on the weekends, looking for a party or something expensive to steal or sometimes a fight. I started going on weeknights, too. My friends were worried. My best friends kept trying to give me things to do at home, afraid I'd get arrested." River scoffed a bit at that, and he smiled. "It was only a bit of fun. Anyway, one day my friend gave up on trying to convince me to stay home, and instead he said he'd come into the city with me. I suppose he thought he could keep an eye on me. Always the optimist, that one. He had some good clean fun, as he put it, planned, and he looked so hopeful that I didn't have the heart to drag him into trouble, poor thing. So I agreed to his ludicrous itinerary, but when he offered to drive me, I told him not to worry — that we'd take the bus.

So Saturday came, the day I'd agreed to go with him, and he went to meet me at the bus stop. Now, sweetie, you've got to understand, I was  _so_ young, and a little bit... mean, sometimes. Still am, I suppose. And I absolutely planned to hop on the bus and go stroll about the park and visit the Tower of London like a bloody tourist with him, but I just couldn't go  _through_ with it. So I stole the bus."

"You  _what_?"

"I stole the bus," she said, giggling — River Song,  _giggling._ "The driver popped out to use the loo before his next circuit, so I hotwired the thing and went to pick my friend up at the bus stop with the bus. I  _told_ him I'd take the bus with him. I guess he just didn't think I meant literally."

"That is a  _terrible_ story, River," the Doctor said, although he couldn't help but smile a little bit to imagine a young, sharp, restless River pulling up to the bus stop and popping open the door with all of her usual finesse, beckoning her slackjawed friend on board. 

"Yeah," River said, "I guess it is. But it was a  _great_ day."

"Did he get on the bus with you?"

"Eventually," she said, "although he was rather put out we didn't get to see anything he wanted to see. We ended up spending most of the day running from the police."

"Did you get caught?"

" _Doctor_ ," she said, sounding so offended that he laughed out loud. "Who do you think you're talking to?"

"Well I don't know," he said, "most people aren't  _born_ criminal master minds."

"Ah," River said, "no, they're not. Criminals are seldom born. They tend to be made."

He furrowed his brow at that, and thought about inquiring further, but he could tell that there were spoilers at the other end of his question, so he just wrapped his arms more tightly about her, nuzzling his nose against her temple.

"I'm sure you weren't a criminal," he said, instead.

"You're mistaken," River said. "I was very much a criminal. But I was young, misguided, angry, smarter than most. I've always been a recipe for disaster."

"You seem to have sorted it out," he said.

"More or less."

He thought for a beat. "Regardless, I'm sure you were  _fun_."

She laughed, a little bleakly. "Let's see if you still think that when I'm dragging you onto a stolen vehicle."

He gulped at that. Mostly, he'd only met this River — older than him, a little bit patronizing, wiser than he'd like, and especially wiser to  _him_ than he ever liked, with a big fat blue book of spoilers. Adventures with River for him, not counting the Library, because he liked to pretend that didn't exist, primarily consisted of River being three steps ahead of him and in control of every situation while he flailed about trying to maintain some illusion of being in charge. The idea that someday — possibly some day soon, depending on how old she was — he'd been running around trying to keep her from getting bloody  _arrested_ was slightly daunting. And then he also thought about how River's need to touch him, at first, had been alarming to him. Something intimidating, and scary in implication, but he'd slowly relaxed into it, in part because he  _wanted_ it, and in part because she clearly needed it, and he had an acute need to please her. The idea that one day he'd be the one desperately trying to cling to fading intimacy while she peered at him warily across the console made him feel a bit ill. He hugged her even closer.

"Sweetie?"

"Yes?"

"You're choking me," she said, "just a bit."

"Sorry, sorry," he said quickly, loosening his grasp on her and scrambling away from her slightly. He was glad she couldn't see him blushing in the dark.

She just kissed his cheek as he resettled onto his back. He wasn't able to let go of her completely, though, wrapping one arm around her waist as she laid on her stomach, her head resting on his chest, her legs still wrapped up with his.

"River?" he asked, when he felt her breathing start to slow. 

She didn't respond, her hand curled into a fist against his chest, her cheek resting on his shoulder. He sighed softly, brushing a hand through her curls and closing his eyes.

"Goodnight, dear," he said, and within moments, he was asleep.

 

 

 

When he woke up, he was shocked to see a bit of light filtering in from between the curtains. He'd been tired — he didn't remember the last time he'd really slept — but he rarely slept for more than a couple of hours, let alone the _whole night_. He blinked, somewhat surprised to realize that he hadn't just been tired, he'd been  _exhausted_ , despite his inability to sleep. He only realized because he felt so  _good_. He felt like a fresh regeneration, really, his mind clearer than it had been in ages. It was only when he started to shift that he felt the body pressed up against his, and remembered where he was. He didn't remember ever sleeping so soundly, and he had to acknowledge that it was probably because of the comfort River's nearness provided. His mind rarely rested enough to allow him to truly shut down — River, despite her propensity for winding him up, was incredibly adept at calming him down.

He was curled onto his side in the bed, his body molded to River's, his arm slung over her side and clutching her tightly to him. He blew her curls away from his face, wondering how much he could move without waking her, because the moment he realized where he was and the intimate way their bodies were wrapped around one another, he also became suddenly aware that River's ass was pressed up against his groin, and he wasn't just up, he was  _up_. He didn't remember the last time he'd woken up hard — possibly because he didn't remember the last time he'd slept long enough to really wake up — and he  _certainly_ couldn't remember the last time he'd done so with someone else in bed. He didn't know what to do. He didn't want to jostle her, and wake her up into what he perceived as an incredibly awkward situation, and so pulling away from her seemed risky, unless he did it quickly. He could perhaps stay still and wait for his body to calm down, but then, he ran his eyes quickly down River's silhouette, his fingers twitching over her stomach, that was probably a highly unlikely scenario. He rolled his eyes to the ceiling, biting down on his lower lip before taking a deep breath. 

He was seconds away from pulling his hand back and rolling himself off the bed and away from River when she sighed in her sleep and shifting against the bed, nestling back into him, her bum wriggling against his erection. He bit off a groan, his fingers automatically sliding back to dig into her hip to keep her from moving further, and he couldn't help but press back against her. She stirred further, and he closed his eyes when he saw hers flutter open.

"Well good morning, honey," she said, her voice thick and sleepy and more than a little bit raspy, which  _really_ wasn't helping him. In response, he just grunted, his fingers digging more firmly into her hip as she intentionally pressed her hips back against him. "Quite the wake up call."

"I was going to move," he said, "really, I was, I'm sorry if —"

"No need to apologize," she said. "You might not know me, but I  _know_ you."

"Isn't that spoilers?" he choked out as she continued to move against him.

"Not hardly," she said. "You might think you're good at hiding what you're thinking at all times, but sometimes... you're just as base and obvious as any man."

"I am not —"

"Before this," River said, "we went dancing at that Aplan ball. Do you remember my dress?"

He flushed.

"Yes," she said with a laugh, "your jaw just about hit the floor and you spent most of the night bouncing your eyes between my chest and my face." She scoffed. "It really wasn't that subtle."

"Fine," he admitted, "just because I find you... attractive... doesn't mean I want..."

He trailed off as she rolled around in his arms to face him, her expression surprisingly serious for all of her brazen spoilers and  _wriggling_. 

"Do you?" she asked. "Want?"

He thought about saying no. There were a great many things about River Song he didn't know, and more than a few things he didn't necessarily trust, and he had the creeping suspicion that she would kill him one day, or perhaps already had, but while he didn't know much about her life, he knew enough to know that she must've had a good reason. She'd stolen a bus as a kid, she'd been reckless and a little bit petty, but she still hadn't left her friend behind, or gotten him in trouble. She was dangerous, maybe, especially to  _him_ , but he also knew that she was loyal, and funny, and clever. And he more than anybody was inclined to believe that if somebody was trying to kill him, well. They probably had an apt reason.

So instead of saying no, he settled deeper into the bed, wrapping and arm around her to run his fingertips along the bit of warm skin between her tank top and her shorts before sliding his hand beneath the fabric of her top and flattening it against her back.

"Yes," he said, looking at her, just as serious. He wanted her to know that he'd thought about it. That he meant it. "Yes I — I...  _want_." 

She let out a tiny, high-pitched noise at that, and he had to kiss her. He'd never felt more certain about anything in his very many lives — in that moment, he  _had_ to kiss River Song. And so he did, pressing his lips a little more roughly than he'd intended against hers. She kissed him back immediately, threading one hand through his hair, the other caressing his skin from shoulder to arm to ribcage, down between his sternum, around his side to scratch her nails against his hip bone, making him buck against her, pressing his hand more firmly to the small of her back so that she arched into him as he pressed his tongue into her mouth, tracing it over hers, exploring her mouth thoroughly. He slid his hand down her back to wrap around under her leg, hitching it up on his hip so he had space to reach his hands into the inseam of her tiny shorts. He groaned when he found her bare beneath, his fingers sliding against her already slick folds. She moaned into his mouth, loud and full, as he found her clit and began to work it over between his index finger and thumb. She dug her fingers into his skin and pulled him against her, and when he slid one finger inside of her, she pulled away from him to gasp.

He took the opportunity to kiss his way down her throat, dragging his teeth gently over her collar bone before he reached the edge of her tank top. He briefly tried to maneuver himself so that he might remove it, but the moment his hand pulled out from between her legs, her hand was around his wrist like a vice, putting it back in place — any blood that had been left in his brain fled swiftly south at that, and he obliged eagerly, instead ducking his head to mouth at her breasts through the thin cotton. She tangled a hand in his hair, holding him to her as he bit one of her nipples gently between his teeth, moaning in earnest as he continued to work his hand between her legs. He leaned over her further and further until she was on her back and her was laying over her, pressing his erection to her side as he kissed her breasts through the damp fabric of her top. Her thighs began to quiver around his hand, and she was making the most spectacular sounds of satisfaction he'd  _ever_ heard. 

"Sweetie," she said, "honey,  _please_."

River Song,  _begging_. If he'd thought he'd been hard before, it was nothing to after she spoke, and he lifted his head from her chest to bite down on her shoulder to keep from making a truly embarrassing sound. He obliged her, though, removing his hand from between her legs only long enough to tug her shorts down, and she helped him by kicking them off to the foot of the bed. She tore her tank top off, and the moment she was naked beneath him she started tugging at his boxers, and together they managed to gracelessly undress. He wanted to pull back and look at her properly, because he  _knew_ she was stunning, but the moment he felt her bare skin against his he couldn't do anything but lean over her completely, her legs falling open so that he could rest between her thighs. He kissed her, loving the feel of her slightly slick skin rubbing against, of the rise and fall of her breasts against him, of the whimpers she made into his mouth as the head of his cock pressed up against her entrance. He reached a hand down to fumble against her clit again, not sure how long he'd be able to hold it together.

She reached a hand down to meet his, wrapping it around his aching length and guiding him into her. He pressed in slowly, slowly, until he was buried in her, and had to tug his mouth from hers to catch his breath, resting his head against her chin and pressing his face into her neck. Her breathing was still unsteady, but she wrapped her arms around him, running her fingers gingerly over his back.

He started to move very slowly, just a gently rocking of his hips against hers, and she locked her ankles over his back, gasping, her heartbeat stuttering where her chest pressed against his. He knew, then, that he was going to love River, if he didn't already, so deeply that he'd probably be more of a danger to himself than she could ever be to him, no matter what secrets her past held. He pressed his hands into the pillow beside her head, lifting himself up slightly so that he could watch her as he moved in her, and her eyes were immediately locked on his. Oh, yes. He knew it, in his bones. He was going to need River like he needed to breathe. She was going to get so deep under his skin, and he was going to let her, and he was going to like it. Her breathing stuttered, her thighs trembling against his sides, and he knew that River was going to be the point around which his life turned, at least for a time.

It was scary — terrifying, really, but it was good. And he  _wanted_ it.

The Doctor started to move faster, pressing his hands deeper into the pillow to give himself better leverage. He was taller than her, and when he really started to move, drawing deeper and louder noises from her, her hands scrambling around his hips, her face ended up near his chest, and he felt her heavy breaths and every noise against his skin. He moved harder and faster, twisting his hips against hers, and her fingers twitched against his hips before releasing him, sliding up to ball into fists against his chest, as though she couldn't  _stand_ it, as though she couldn't quite hold on. She grew louder and louder, and it was music to his ears; he wasn't sure how much longer he'd be able to hold out, because she was River, and she might've been anyone, but he was  _hers,_ he knew, and he was drawing those noises from her and making her whole body tremble, making her toes curl against his back, and then her back was arching as she let out a loud, catching cry as she came, and he fell over the edge with her — which, he thought, was bound to be the way of things in days to come: falling over whatever edge she deemed fit to jump off after her.

When he collapsed onto the bed beside her, trying to calm his breathing and racing hearts, she let out a deep, satisfied sigh that made his toes curl.

"Now that," she said, "is a wake up call."

He let out a quiet puff of laughter. "Much better than whatever the front desk would've done."

"Oh, I don't know," River said. "I can be pretty persuasive."

He shot her a glare as she slid to the edge of the bed, dropping her feet to the floor and reaching her hands above her head in a luxurious stretch, which he watched with great interest. When she stood and started to fuss around getting dressed, he sighed.

"Do we have to go?"

"Yes," River said. "Live-threatening danger, clever last minute improvisations, witty banter, running, you know. Just another day."

"I'm sure that is just another day for River Song," he said with a soft smile. 

"Maybe if you're lucky," she said, offering him a wink, "I'll even steal you a bus."


End file.
